


Inglorious Finale

by Brosca-Pride (Fan_by_Proxy)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Heartbreak, Insanity, Murder, New Beginnings, Other, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Brosca-Pride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wardens are the light in the darkness.  They alone defend against the threat of darkspawn and the Blight.  They are heroes of varying reputation.  It is a burden that does not end just because a Warden has answered the Call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Have You Heard, There's a Rumor in the Marketplace

     There was a rumor swirling around Dust Town; a crazy half-truth about an elf wandering the Deep Roads, who would take you to the surface.  All you had to do was make it to Cadash Thaig and find the door with a sword drawn on it in ash.  If you found it, and talked to the elf with the flaming red hair, who was there when Harrowmont was crowned--who crowned him herself--the Grey Warden, someone of GREAT IMPORT; if you bargained with her, you could have a way out of certain death.  No one ever mentioned what the cost of being led out was; just that the elf-Warden was mad and glad and half-phantom.  Possibly one-armed, maybe three-armed by now, cackling like an empty pot on the fire and as sure-eyed in the dark as the 'spawn.  Apparently she was Tainted but impossible to kill, even for the Deep Roads.

     Supposedly the gem merchant's brother met a traveling smith whose wife had gone to the Roads over being married, found the marked door, and made it out alive.  Ridiculous rumours about the Deep Roads were as plentiful as fungus and 'spawn, and Meyri wouldn't have bothered putting stock in market rumors; bunch of bored, up-jumped casteless half-surfacers who didn't give one whit about anything but their little trinkets. 

     But as the great doors slammed shut behind her, and little stone shards pricked the bottoms of her feet as the stink of old cave and 'spawn and sure-death flooded her nose, the idea of chasing a rumor in the dark was as good a plan as any.  She looked at the crude map carved into her inner arm, the lines still weeping and raw; a few quick sucks of the guard's ale-pisser had netted vague directions to Cadash.  It was a map she could still follow even in the dark; if she could avoid deepstalkers and giant spiders and the 'spawn, she might have a quarter of a chance, which was better than no chance at all.

     In the first turn of the Roads, Meyri found her first corpse.  Well not her first corpse; that had been Old Roj, beaten to death by the Cartel for practice.  But this corpse was the first of the journey; most of the legs were gone, so she couldn't salvage boots.  The gloves jiggled when she poked at them; she didn't want to imagine the mess they'd make coming off.  The chest plate was still good, and not too far from the corpse was a knife.  If she could scrounge enough, she just might make it.  And scrounging was the first lesson a Duster ever got!  Actually second; the first was 'don't fuck up and get caught because you're on your own'.

     Her stomach turned a little as she fastened the chest plate on; maybe she was a little more squeamish than she'd like to admit.  "Thanks ya dead  bastard."  It wasn't much of a eulogy, but it was probably more than this deader had gotten when he first died.  She picked up the knife, disgusted to find a wooden handle and a fat blade; it was barely above a kitchen tool.  Not a proper sticker, but at least she wouldn't be punching 'stalkers in the face.

 

* * *

    

     Being hungry was nothing new for the Duster; hunger you learned to deal with.  It was _thirst_ that killed a lot of the folk in Dust Town.  Feeling along in the dark, sipping from mud puddles and licking lichen off stone just to keep a litte moisture in the mouth: surviving could be downright humiliating sometimes.  But if anyone were to ever ask, Meyri would say that the exhaustion was always the worst.  Hunger sucked, thirst sucked more, but being _tired_...that was the ultimate worst.  If you were tired you were sloppy, and if you were sloppy you got caught.  Or in this situation, got eaten.

     She damn near wept when the dark of the tunnel gave way to wide-open grey space.  There was a smell in the air, something she didn't recognize one whit, and a sound sort of like when the piss-pots were emptied in the gutter.  It was a lot brighter too; even if it wasn't Cadash, it wasn't a crumbling tunnel either.  That was a vast improvement over the last...however long it had been.  Time didn't mean much in the dark and near-dark, after all.

     This new wide space was unsettling; she was so used to the dark, the near-dark, the pitter-patter of pebbles, the threat of cave-in, darkspawn hissing, the absence of it was startling.  She felt unsure.  Really unsure; almost ready to turn around and go back into what was at least familiar.  The ground beneath her feet rose, higher and higher and it only just dawned on her that she might be on a bridge when a single stone, carved deep the way the frames around the doors to the Diamond District were, tripped her up.  "Nug-thumping dirt-muncher--" she swore, grabbing for her toes.  Boots were apparently fine cuisine for all the monsters of the Deep Roads; she hadn't managed to find a damn pair yet!     Something skittered to her left; it didn't sound like pebbles.  Meyri broke into a run, sliding down the bridge as it canted drunkenly to the left.  Clear water and bright green moss startled her, but there wasn't time to investigate it.  What was the skittering?  Deepstalkers?    

     No, not enough feet, and no squeaks.    

     Spiders, maybe?

     Not that either; no thumping drag to go along with the skittering, no heavy abdomen dragging along, full of poison and hunger for meager dwarf flesh.    

     ...darkspawn?

     It had to be darkspawn.  Flanking her, obviously better armed than her, imagine getting this far only to die gutted.  Joke was on the 'spawn, there wasn't enough on her bones to feed a nug!  Still, going down easy was not the Duster way.  Meyri brandished what was left of the knife; the tip had broken off on a charging bronto's hide and the handle was threatening to crumble away to nothing in her sweaty grip.  Still, it was better than nothing.

     A shriek rang through the air, bouncing off crumbling stone houses, echoing and filling her head until she couldn't hear the skittering; this was it, this was the last hurrah, she couldn't figure out where the 'spawn was going to hit her from she was--


	2. Deepstalker Stew

     Meyri tasted blood.  The gray stone under her cheek didn't smell like anything in Orzammar; no dust, no soot, no fancy polished noble boot.  She'd been hit from behind, bitten through an old scar in her mouth.  Her cheek throbbed; pain was good.  Pain was for the living.  The 'spawn might've had the drop on her but she wasn't dead!  She just had to get in one good blow with what was left of...the...knife.

     _Nug shit!_

She was empty-handed, still too dazed to coordinate a swing as the 'spawn rolled her onto her back and began to pry at the bits and pieces of armor she'd managed to scrounge.  Then it tsked.  "No-no-no-no no good, not good stuff at all cheap stuff cheap lousy stuff not surprising they never want to arm their people they'd rather see them dead I don't understand I just don't understand it a'tall." A raspy voice, too rough to know if it was older or younger.  " _Casteless_." It hissed against her cheek.  "What's'a'casteless doing here we wonder, maybe she's been put out maybe a thief nothng wrong with a thief thieves are handy, but what if she's a killer well we're all killers dear, it's how you survive when no one's on your side."

     Meyri managed a swallow.  Whatever it was, it didn't seem as interested in dismembering her.  "Are you the Warden?"

     This time the hiss was wordless, the thing moving away from her.  Meyri managed to push herself up into a sit, trying to make sense of what she saw.  Paler than a nug, hair a natty mass of brambles, a gray dusty cloud around the head with a few streaks of red that might've been hair and very well could've just been blood.  It squinted at her, eyes as black as bronto hide.  The pieces of armor it wore were of better quality than the bits she'd scrounged; the mail probably polished up pretty, the guards on the shoulders and wrist dented but not broken.  No boots though; the feet were grungy black with mud and blood and who-knew what else.

     "I'm...I'm looking for the Warden." she tried again, cautiously.  Maybe it was like trying to catch a Nug; lunge too soon and it would scarper faster than you could grab it.  "I need...help." God that phrase was clunky and difficult to say for as short as the words were.

     It twitched, thumb going to its mouth.  The teeth were still good, gleaming white and vicious-looking as they worried the skin on the digit, pulling some off and spitting it out.  "Help?  Help?  Everyone needs help there's never someone to help us but that's alright that's what we do what we've always done it's a fine proud history of helping without being helped..."

     This was scarier and more pointless than trying to talk to Mad Maj; but then she had just been off her nut for want of drink.  Meyri doubted a cheap drought of dirt ale would focus this thing.

     "Why's it down here though, we wonder?  Theft, robbery, maybe rutting the wrong plumpkin?" there was a giggle, a terrible trill with no humor to be had in it.

     Was it worth answering?  Could this jibbering thing even understand answers that weren't rattled off like so much piss?  "I...killed a noble."

     There was a cock of the head.  "Oh?  For what?"

     "Had a go at my sister, got her fat-bellied.  Didn't wanna do what was right, so he...beat her belly flat." She didn't like talking about it.  Oh beating on that fat little bastard 'till his face was so much mush on the floor had been great, a dearly treasured memory...but having to roll Nara up in rags and push her body into the muck...no, no she didn't want to talk about that.

     Something passed over its face; an expression that didn't match the streaks on her face.  Whatever it was, it wasn't a regular look.  "And they didn't take your head immediately?  Oh things have gotten much, much crueler in Orzammar since the last time we walked that way.  Guess Harrowmont wasn't such a great choice after all."

     "Wouldn't know, he's been dead for years.  Not that it makes a difference in Dust Town...did you uh...you ever see Dust Town?  When you were" _sane_ "there?"

     "Oh yes.  Tattered glories left to the unwanted, lots of thieves but are they thieves because they want to be or because it's the only way to eat if you aren't pretty enough to cheap enough to lie down and catch a bastard or two?"

     "Yeah, that's about right." she snorted.

     "Knew a casteless, pretty girl, of the Legion." it smiled.  "Liked plants and trinkets and things that were from anywhere but underground.  Good strong girl, used to be a thief, sometimes still had sticky fingers but did we fault her no we didn't because she was more than a thief and a dead woman walking she was a friend.  Sigrun."

     As if the name meant something.  "That's...nice?"

     "Did her wrong though, gave her the poison too, made her like us and that was a wicked mean thing to do but we were desperate we needed bodies there were only the two of us to protect everyone everywhere the ones from Orlais were slower than mud, _useless_." it spat, hitting the floor with a wad of thick brackish phlegm.  Then it moved away from her, creeping along the ground slowly; leading with pointed toes and following on the balls of her feet.

     Meyri watched this strange little movement, wondering if it was dangerous to follow.  Then again, being in the Deep Roads was already dangerous.  What was one crazy rambling thing compared to spiders and 'spawn?  She got to her feet slowly, picking up what was left of the kitchen knife; it was just a splintered handle at this point, but it was still hers.  Sort of, anyway.

* * *

     The creeping, skittering walk-crawl led to a door half off its hinges...and on the wall beside it, a crude sooty drawing.  It might've been a sword, in some light.  At least she'd found the Warden, for all the good it would do her.  There was a little fire inside, piles of rubble...and bones.  The walls were covered in black fingermarks; some of them seemed to be faces, others were maps.  One wall was those strange square shapes the nobles were so proud to scribble down all over everything.

     "Sit-sit-sit-sit you've been walking for a while, we know what that's like know it very well so much walking and talking and darkspawn killing there were times that was all there was and honestly I liked those times better than when we had to deal with the favors, favors on top of favors on top of favors, save a city support a cause, start a war, end it." There was another shrill titter.

     Meyri sat slowly, keeping a wary eye on the twitching, jibbering thing.  "Sounds like a lot of busy work."

     "Oh yes, busy busy busy work sometimes we thought the only time the people were happiest were when they were angry at something."  Suddenly the eyes were focused on her.

     In the dimmest light of the little fire, they had a silver sheen.  It was startling; the old-timers in Dust Town swore that's what eating darkspawn did to you.  She really hoped those bones around the room weren't gnawed-on 'spawn.  "Probably..."

     There was a pot sitting on the little fire, full of something thick and grey-smelling.  It didn't so much bubble as burp.  The maybe-Warden was stirring it.  "Bet she's hungry, of course she is, she's been down here long enough to find us, hasn't been chewing on 'spawn and mushrooms, we'd know and she would know us better."  The grey-smelling stuff made a disgusting, squelching noise as it plopped into a helmet.  "Here, eat up."

     It was surprising how many ways she knew how to say 'no'.  Unfortunately only about three of those ways were anything resembling polite.  "Are you kidding?  No thanks."

     "Don't look at us that way.  Boiled deepstalker with a few mushroom caps; tastes like shit but it won't kill you.  It's no boiled rabbit but it's healthier than most of what you can find down here.  Speaking of health, do not lick the blue moss or it's shits fit to blow your arsehole out."

     That pleasant little mental image wasn't helping.  "What about getting out of here?"

     "Can't march on an empty belly that's how Andraste's armies won, Maker torched the fields and left her enemies with nothing to eat for miles and miles.  _Eat_." the Warden-thing bared her teeth.  They were almost as bright in the dark as her eyes.

     Meyri forced her fingers into the mush, feeling stringy meat and questionable lumps.  Bile rose in her throat but the Warden-thing was still staring at her with those unnatural eyes and gleaming teeth.  She made herself gather a dripping  pile and put it in her mouth.  Thankfully, it wasn't as greasy as nug.

     "There.  Seeing some sense now, good-good-good, sup here, rest here, the 'spawn avoid us for the most part not as stupid as they act now, no not anymore they're learning and while that's good for us that's bad for us too."

     She focused on the slop-filled helmet in her hands.  It was either concentrate on forcing it down or listen to the Warden-thing twitch and ramble, not both.  Her belly protested the invasion, the thickness, the nastiness of it; but this was better than dying hopeless in the Deep...wasn't it?

* * *

     The scrabbling again, closer this time.  Meyri startled, slipping off the stone she'd taken for a seat.  When had she dozed off?  How had she dozed off?!  Disoriented, she actually relished the thump of her butt on the ground, even as a particuarly pointy pebble split her cheeks.

     "Awake at last, good-good-good we were thinking we'd have to wake you and that might earn us a blackened eye, wouldn't be the first time waking a companion resulted in that.

     She was taken aback.  The Warden was fastening a thick leather belt around her middle, and the hodgepodge covering she'd been wearing before was tossed aside.  _This_ get-up was right proper armor, shoulder to foot, even with a tunic underneath that wasn't as grubby as the surroundings.  It even had an animal on the chest plate; some furry four-legged thing with a great ruff around the neck and pointed face.  It would have been incredibly impressive to see if there wasn't part of a skull dangling danging from the belt!

     It was the top half, just the great big boring eye holes and some teeth, polished smooth most likely from constant handling.  She'd tied it to the belt with a fraying rope that Meyri honestly hoped was made of something normal, if for no reason than to not consider how one might braid their hair into twine to tie with.  Why did the Warden-thing have a skull with her?!  Who was it, was that standard-issue with the uniform?  Or had this all been the worst idea she'd ever had, right after 'being born'.  "We're...going?

     "It's four days walk to get out of here at a dead run.  We won't be able to make it that fast; you're not us but that's alright, if it takes us six it's still better than being trapped down here, right? Right."

     If the Warden-thing was right, freedom was close enough to start hoping for.  But it was off the rock so to speak.  She wasn't going to hold her breath.  "Is it really that close?"

    The Warden-thing had an odd nod to go with the rest of her nature; it was wobbly and seemed very likely that her head would drop right off.  "The light's all the way from the surface, trickling down through holes in your ceiling that's our ground it's funny that way, how one someone's something is another person's other thing.  But we're wasting time, there's only a few short times that the way out isn't rife with darkspawn and we'll have to watch out for the spiders no matter how many we kill they just keep coming back!"

     "Yeah..." Meyri said slowly, getting to her feet.  "That's spiders for ya..."

    


	3. Nothing Good About Ogres

     Cadash Thaig--what was left of Cadash Thaig--was enormous.  It felt as if they'd been walking for four days already, just plodding up slick slopes of rock and trying not to fall in pooling water because some of them were, according to the Warden-thing, "nasty bottomless pits sucked the runty one down fast the big one dove in after told him not to, we told him not to because we saw the turning water when the water turns fast there's no getting out of it saw it in the black marshes saw a whole ogre go down in waters like these".

     The rambling made her dizzy; words on top of words that probably weren't related.  Sometimes there were names, spoken affectionately, spoken with anger and a little extra drool.  Meyri was rather glad her name wasn't coming up in one of those spit-soaked rages.

     "That bastard that pompous bastard claiming it was for Ferelden but it never was not even in the end he was mad, mad and cruel, had his daughter locked away by Howe Howe that ratty little bastard with his torture chambers bet he was there the night the orphanage burned probably creamed himself when the children screamed the bastard!"

     All this treachery and backstabbing on the surface; it sounded a lot like home.  Meyri opened her mouth to ask 'what orphanage' but the Warden-thing had stopped short and was at last standing completely upright.  She wasn't that much taller that way, but squared shoulders were a lot more impressive than a stoop.  The rambling had stopped too, and she was holding out a fist; she seemed to be listening for something.  So Meyri listened to, even thought she wasn't sure what she was listening for.

     "Darkspawn.  A small party--take the crossbow, get up the hill.  Watch your back, and try not to hit me."

     That was the curtest, most sensible stretch of words the Warden-thing had put together.  And that was terrifying.  Meyri scrambled up the nearby pile of rubble and moss, settling on her belly with the crossbow aimed just over the Warden-thing's head.  This would be the first time she'd see the Warden-thing in action.  Here's hoping madness hadn't also made the jbbering Warden hopelessly ineffective.

     It was unsettling, watching the 'spawn come into view.  A handful of genlocks and a Hurlock leading them.  Watching the big one startle, point its axe at the Warden, and growl was one thing...watching the Warden brandish her blades and make a deep, gutteral noise back at it was beyond something else.  Could...could she actually _talk_ to it?  Were they understanding each other?  The Warden-thing made another belly noise and drew a line across her throat.  Didn't take a scholar to understand _that_.

     The Hurlock roared, the gens started to charge, and Meyri couldn't get her finger on the trigger fast enough before three of them were dead.  Light flashing off blades, a few spurts of blood, and three little genlock heads sailing through the air.  The rest were trying to scatter, trying to avoid the hail of arrows.  She wasn't even sure if she was hitting anything, but damn did it feel good to send those bastards scurrying like rats.  Between her arrows and the Warden's obscene quick violence, it seemed like the fight was going to be over and they'd be making a quick getaway.

     Then a damned Ogre showed up.

* * *

     The Warden had her back to it, taking the Hurlock's head off; a crossbow wasn't going to do much against the charging beast and besides, she needed to reload.  It was amazing that something so big and ugly could move so fast, but she supposed having legs at least four dwarves tall helped.  She wasn't about to go running off the hill into the trembling path of the thing, so Meyri did something she never thought to do, not once in all her scraps.  She called out a warning.  "OGRE!"

     Too little, too late; the ogre had a fat meaty paw out and around the Warden before she could dance out of the way.  She was hacking at the thumb to no avail; one good squeeze and Meyri was out a guide and most assuredly dead meat.  Arrows scattered as she fumbled with the reload; the Warden was screaming and later on she wouldn't be sure HOW she managed to get her last round loaded, but Meyri did and she got to her feet and hoped harder than she ever had before that this shot would do something other than bounce uselessly off rock.

     It did; the ogre howled, throwing the Warden away, grabbing at its face.  Bronto-busting mud piles, she nailed it in the eye!  There was just one problem...now there was an angry ogre pointed at  _her_ and not a lot of places to hide.  Meyri slid down the hill and broke into a run, looking for the nearest crevice to crawl into.  That was Dust Town survival at its finest; anything chasing you would give up if you hid long enough.  A tiny cavern formed by the thaig's outer edge and a crumbling House was the perfect little place to run into.

     Almost perfect, anyway.  Meyri had to wedge herself in sideways and scrunch up as small as she could and still hope that the ogre couldn't get a hold of her even as those fat fingers brushed against her feet.  "That's right ya nug-cocked pisser, you're out there and I'm in here and there ain't shit to be done about it!"  Taunting probably wasn't appropriate, but it's not like the situation could get any worse.  Either the ogre would manage to grab her, or the House would finish caving in and she'd be dead any way, or something like one of those miracle things the rich were always praying to their grandmothers for would happen and this would end well.

     Suddenly the fat fingers went still, and the 'spawn smell was so thick in that little space that she couldn't breathe.  Stranger still, she could hear the Warden-thing calling her name.  "Meyri!  Meyri do you live?!"

     "I'm here!  By the dust though this thing stinks!"

     "Tell me about it!  Can you see light?  This fat bastard's too big to move whole, we might have to carve a door out of him for you!"

     That sounded like an even more disgusting happening than extra servings of deepstalker stew.  "Don't start cuttin' yet!" Meyri yelled back, unfolding slowly and tentatively making her way to the little corner of light just over the ogre's arm.  Darkspawn blood was greasy and thick and only a real serious fear of accidentally swallowing some kept Meyri from falling face first into it.  There was a hand in the opening, long ghostly fingers; she grabbed onto it, and found herself pulled from the crevice like the stopper on a lyrium shipment.

     They tumbled down the backside of the dead ogre, a fresh and disgusting experience in and of itself; but bile and pain were for the living, so feeling either one was a good sign.  Meyri got to her feet faster than the Warden-thing; poor nutter was on her hands and knees, on the floor, spitting up and wheezing.  "Hey...hey Warden, Warden c'mon now, don't die.  We're still what, four days out?"

     "Help me up Meyri--bastard and his squeezing.  Think a rib's moved again."

     It was the second time the Warden-thing had managed her name; a new record for lucidity.  She wasn't sure how to help, but when the Warden grabbed her shoulder and clung, Meyri figured she was supposed to be a walking stick.  "C'mon Warden, you're doing good, not even that hurt, right?  Wardens don't get hurt, right?"  
     Silence answered the constant muttered stream of encouragement.  Swear to whoever, if the Warden drooled on her, she was done.

     "Not even that bad; little hug from an ogre, probably one of a hundred for ya, right?"

     _That_ got a laugh.  "Maker, you don't even know.  I remember..."

     Oh nug shit, not a trail-off, not right now in the middle a thing that resembled a conversation!

     The Warden wheezed.  "...the first time I ever saw one.  Top of the tower of Ishal, at Ostgar.  Went to light a beacon, wound up in the _worst kind of trouble_."

     "The kind where you almost die or the kind where you have to drink forge water to clear up?"

     "The first one.  I remember thinking 'Maker someone should do something about that ugly thing'."  She snorted, gesturing at a pillar tipped on its side.  "I need to sit."

     Meyri managed to shuffle her over and get her set down, even helping unbuckle the chest plate to make sure nothing sharp had turned in.  She hadn't realized how much she'd missed conversation until now, and she dreaded its inevitable slip away.  "Really?  Of all the shit you could think, _that_ was it?"

     "Screaming didn't seem like an option; I was the only woman and you know when you're the only woman and you scream, menfolk lose all respect for you."

     "True enough."

     "Wish I had a copper for every time I should have died.  Just for the pleasure of being the richest woman in Thedas."  she groaned then, eyes squeezed tight, hands on her waist and taking deep breaths.  "Just moved, just a little off center.  Just enough to make breathing in hard, but I'll live."  Still breathing deep with her eyes closed, the Warden reached down to cradle the skull.

     "Maybe we should take a break." Meyri ventured, sliding back a step.  The Warden-thing fondled that bit of bone a lot, and it was always unnerving.

     "Fair'nough.  Start us a small fire.  That was a scout's party, far afield.  The ogre was a stray.  We'll have a few hours before we should worry."

     She didn't ask how the Warden-thing might know that; her nerves were still jangled over ogre attacks and apparently conversations with the 'spawn.  Better to just lay out some of their meager tinder and try to get something going that'd be hot enough to boil water for deepstalker stew.

* * *

     Halfway through the stew, the Warden-thing spoke again.  "So what will you do when you make it out?"

     Meyri was still trying to chew down a particularly stringy piece; it forced her to take an uncomfortably long pause.  The sad thing was, at the end of the pause, she had no idea, and said as much.

     "This path goes up.  Up and up and up until you think you'll come out the top of the mountain.  It's not the top though, just out the side.  Caverns, facing the sea.  There's a rocky path down to a village--well I say village, it's maybe a dozen buildings and a lot of mud.  But it's a stopping place for travelers.  Head down to the Red Ale Inn, ask for...for...oh damn..." she murmured.  
     It was coming; the jibbering, nonsensical torrent of words.  She could see it coming, see it in the way the Warden-thing swayed on her seat, the unblinking stare at nothing. 

     "I don't remember his name.  Ruddy little fat thing, I honestly didn't think he'd make it out of here.  Phlegm maybe?  Or Farf?  Don't remember.  Loud little thing though, shrieks when you sneak up on him.  Big ears too, remember that."

     "Right...look for a fat, red-faced dwarf with big ears who shrieks.  Right."

     "Tell him you need a bed.  If he starts cracking on about money or fucks, tell him he still owes the Wardens aid."  
     That was an oddly ominous phrase.  Meyri raised an eyebrow.  "Is that code or something?"

     "No, no codes.  He was a coward a _nasty_ little coward always screaming and telling the 'spawn where we were or whining about the sores on his feet as if there's anything to be done about it down here like I have a little blonde mage in my pocket to pull out."  The Warden-thing managed a deep breath, wincing.  "Popped him square across the face, told him if he wanted out of this he'd do as I said.  That he'd offer as much aid as was necessary to those who relied on the Wardens.  And I told him if he didn't, I'd make my way to wherever he was cowering, and he didn't want to make me have to do that."

     She smirked.  "That's a pretty effective threat.  So find the Red Ale, find the fat dwarf, threaten him with you, and...make my way, I guess."

     The Warden-thing nodded, still stroking the skull on her lap.  "Little advice?  Apprentice with someone, legit.  Don't get caught up with thieves and bards and assassins, don't go that way.  Castes don't matter up there, coin does...and a dwarf with coin goes a lot further than a short thief."

     Was that a dig at her?  She couldn't decide.  Maybe it was just unsound life advice jumped up in crazy talk.  "I'll figure it out Warden--

     "Kallian."

     Meyri frowned.  Was that a mash of words, a name, or a fresh new crazy twitch.  "Huh?" 

     "Kallian...that was--that _is_ my name."  Another wince as the Warden reached for her chest plate.  "I hail from an Alienage in Denerim; you'll see those, if you go to a big enough place.  It's where they hide the elves.  It's a complicated relationship, humans and elves." she hissed through grit teeth as she fastened the plate back on.  
     Meyri doused the fire, still trying to work a string of deepstalker tail out of her teeth.  She still wasn't sure about the Warden-thing or her bizarre waves of lucidity.  Sure they were nice, but when they ebbed away back into crazy jibbering, that stung.

     But as they travelled, she began to notice a pattern.  Whenever the Warden took a hard hit, whenever she had a hurt that was bad enough to warrant a brief break (and from the way she threw herself into trouble, there were a lot of brief breaks), she was a little more focused.  A little more coherent; did pain clear her head or something?  It was strange to think of pain being a good thing.  After a rough run-in with a pair of spiders that left the Warden shaky and fang-stuck, she decided to ask.

    

 

 


	4. The Thing About Pain

     "You uh...seem a lot more together after you've taken a bad knock."  Meyri said as she was trying not to look as she dug fingers into the Warden's calf to coax out gobs of venom; one of the spiders had managed to get a fang in while she was ripping through its pal.  To the Warden's credit, she wasn't yowling and she wasn't trying to slap Meyri away.

     "Keep squeezing, I know it's a mess--and it's the pain.  Beats back the song, clears my head a little." the Warden managed.

     "What do you mean?"

     "The Taint.  We take it in so we can sense darkspawn, find'em and kill'em.  After a while the pull gets strong.  It's like a song in the back of our minds that just gets louder.  That's when we get the Calling--that's the fancy term for when a Warden goes into the Deep Roads to die."  she hissed, punching her thigh.  "Keep pressing; once you've got fresh red blood, take some of the bandage from the pack.  I'll show you how to dress it."

     Meyri nodded a little.  "Almost there, there's not as much of the gunk... _why_ would you even _do_ something like that if you know this is whatcha got waiting for you?"

     "That's not exactly part of the recruitment spiel.  If a Warden-Commander decides you're worth takin' on, you get told how your skills are needed against the darkspawn, how you'll be joining a fine history of saving the world, shit like that."  The Warden shook her head.  "You don't find out until you're staring down a goblet full of darkspawn blood and lyrium that your life's over."

     As she said that, bright red blood gushed over Meyri's hands; that was the last straw.  She had to pull away and heave a few strings of deepstalker onto the dust.  "Sorry--

     "That's probably another reason why it's such a secret.  Nobody'd do it if they knew that for sure."

     Meyri nodded, wiping at her chin roughly, coming back to the Warden's feet to bandage the wound.  First fold up a scrap of cloth into a pad, press it to the wound; more bandage to go around the leg, tying every so often.  Not too tight but not too loose; compression to keep the blood in but you had to let it still flow under the skin.  That'd explain why a lot of Dusters lost toes and fingers; get scared of the blood rushing out of'em, tie whatever was on hand too tight.  She wasn't sure when the Warden had taught her that, but it was damn good to know.

     "That's good work."

     She frowned.  "What now?"

     "The wrap you just did.  It's a big improvement over this one." the Warden smiled, touching the scrap still tied around her head; this part of the Roads didn't have as many cave-ins but that didn't mean rock didn't work loose and try to brain you every so often. 

     "...thanks."  Meyri wasn't so sure what to do with that.  It sounded...positive.  Positive wasn't a thing she was used to.  "So this Calling, is that what you're doing here?"

     The Warden sighed.  "It is and it isn't." she closed her eyes, hands going to the skull and pulling it against her chest.  "Alistair's Calling came before mine.  He tried to leave without me.  Noble bastard." she sniffed.  "We fought a damned Blight together, I couldn't let him go off alone."

     So it wasn't a grisly souvenir.  It was a grislier keepsake.  "That was the guy--the only other Warden, right?"

     This nod was softer, gentler.  It didn't seem like her head was going to fall off.  "He'd only been a Warden for I think a year before I Joined.  A sweetheart, a very tender, sweet heart; terrible sense of humor though.  He would make the most _awful_ jokes and always at the wrong time." she smiled.  "Asked me once if I'd ever _licked_ a _lampost_ in _winter_..."

     "What does that even _mean_?"  Meyri shook her head.  "I mean why would you even lick a lampost?  Or is this like sucking on an ale-pisser?"

     She laughed, a sharp bark that ended in a groan.  "Not that far...Alistair didn't ah...have that kind of practice when we met.  That was his absolutely terrible way of asking if there was someone in my heart."

     "That's not that rotten.  Beats 'so how many bones been thrown down your pit'."

     " _Ew_ , that's...I'll take a lampost over a bone." the Warden shook her head.  "Hope you busted the blighter's gums."

     "Did better than that, cracked his skull.  You're too gentle Warden, it's a wonder you managed to kill an Archdemon." Meyri snorted.  "So...izzat him in your hand?" Might as well attack the guard head-on, so to speak.

     The Warden nodded, running her fingers over the teeth.  "You don't go through what we went through and not fall in love a little bit...or in my case, a lot.  I loved him at the expense of myself..." she sniffed.  "I loved him too much."  Suddenly she pushed to her feet, the skull bouncing against her thigh.  "Let's go."

     "Can you walk though?" Meyri was disappointed; she nursed a deep and secret affection for bad romance stories.

     "You want to know more, don't you?  And I've got to hurt to focus, don't I?" 

     So the Warden was a little more aware of her own situation than Meyri even figured...that was...she didn't know how to describe it.  It wasn't comfortable to think about.  "No need to go outta your way for me."

     She shrugged.  "Makes the trip go faster, gets you to a new life that much sooner, yeah?"

     "You really think it's gonna be better?"  Meyri demanded.  
  
     "Well...can't be any worse than here, now can it?"  
  
     That was a hard argument to beat.  And since Meyri didn't have a good rebuttal, she nodded, and put her heels to the dust.  
  
  



	5. And By the Air, I Mean My Mind

     The air was changing, slow but sure.  As they walked and the Warden talked, the air changed.  It didn't feel as thick in her nose, didn't taste so much like mud and blood.  Cadash gave way to more of the Roads but they didn't feel the same underfoot.  Or maybe they did, and she wasn't noticing because the Warden was telling the kind of story that Meyri loved.

     Starting as a nobody, whole life put out before her from birth to grave.  Then just a chance event--well not chance per se, a drunken bastard breaking up your wedding isn't so much chance as it was regularly inconvenient--the revenge slayings to follow, and conscripture into a mysterious order.  Being rescued by something impossible and crossing a dozen exotic places to save the world.  
     And falling in _love_.  The handsome bastard son of a king, fumbling embraces under the stars...of course that part had to go to shit.  He had to go and be king and apparently the topsiders gave more of a damn about _what_ you were than where you came from.  Finding out the Warden had spent the rest of the time being his mistress was a little disappointing; but she could understand.  A woman's got to do a hundred thousand things for no thanks, and a Warden's got to do six hundred thousand things for no thanks.  That's a lot of things to do for a Lady Warden to not get thanks; better to take her kicks wherever she could.  
  
     Although, Meyri thought to herself, if she were in charge, she'd've married the bastard and pointed out to the critics that she'd bumped off the Archdemon.  That would probably put an end to any discussion, right then and there.  "Oh, you don't like my pointy ears?  Neither did the archdemon when I cut his blasted head off!" "Oh you think I'm not good enough for the King?  Well I and the skull of the archdemon disagree"  But things were probably more complicated topside...not that she'd have to worry about that.  She wasn't planning to get mixed up in the same sort of shit the Warden threw herself into.  
  
     She'd shed a couple of tears when the Warden talked about her bastard, about the end when he'd tried to slink off to the blighted Calling alone and they'd had it out like a couple of drunks on the street.  That was some stupid love that had a woman following a man into the Deep Roads and certain death.  But it was the ultimate cruel joke that the 'spawn weren't the ones to kill him; no, no it was worse to find out the old bastard had caught fever.  Just a regular old fever that would've taken forever to kill him if the Warden hadn't slipped a blade between his ribs.  
  
     That was shocking to find out; but at the same time it wasn't.  After all, the fever would've taken its sweet time kiling him off.  Meyri had watched a lot of people sort of close to her die that slow, nasty way.  A quick prick was a lot more merciful.  Carrying his empty head around?  Well that was still pretty creepy...but of all the weird things a Taint-maddened Warden wandering the Deep Roads could do, that was barely worth mentioning.  Didn't mean she was any less creeped out when the Warden started fondling him though.  
  
     It was a long story, lasting through several skirmishes and breaks.  She'd even caught a few moments rest with the Warden's story still going on.  Towards the end her voice had started giving out, and the limp that had helped her focus long enough to tell was that much worse.

     "You alright old woman?  Maybe we should've carved you a cane outta that last ballista, huh?"  Meyri reached out to grab her elbow and steady her.  
     "Why?  You're right here." the Warden replied with a grim smile.  "Not that much further, and you'll be on your way."

     "There's somethin' I gotta ask," Meyri pulled the Warden's arm across her shoulders, bracing her.  The more the Road slanted, the harder it got for the Warden to walk, she'd noticed.  She didn't want to leave the old nutter and she didn't want to be left.  So she braced, and cajoled, and acted a crutch.  "You're supposed to be goin' for 'spawn till they pile on you and kill ya, right?  So...why lead people out?"  
     "First time it was an accident.  I'd gotten turned around and ran into somebody else who'd been dumped out to die...I'm ashsamed to say I don't remember her name.  It was...oh it was a long time ago." the Warden sighed.  "I didn't agree with the Chantry when they left Sten in a damn cage to be pulled apart by darkspawn, I didn't agree with the army when they left a deserter in the cage with nothing to eat, and I'm not about to agree with thrusting some poor bastard out into the Deep Roads unarmed.  If you're mad enough to punish somebody with death, then pick up a blade and execute'em."  
  
     "Plus your whole 'I'll give anybody but Loghain' a chance thing."     

     The Warden gave a bark of laughter, then doubled over.  Meyri had to struggle to keep them both from tumbling over.  "Right.  Most people that've done bad, they regret it, they want another chance.  It's just a real small handful that are bastards through-and-through, and I still think it's better to kill'em quick and go on about the day than do that long, drawn-out torture."

     "I'll keep that in mind." she huffed.  "Doin' alright there old woman?"

     "Bah.  Nothin's killed me yet." The Warden replied.  "Get a deep breath Duster, get used to the smell of top side."

     Meyri frowned, unsure if the Warden was teasing, starting her goodbyes, or slipping back into madness. "How many times you get this far with somebody?"

     "Not that often, I'm afraid.  Takes a certain kind to walk miles and miles, a hungry kind of person to fight and push on even though they got no idea what's going to happen ahead.  The ones who're full Orzammar, all Stone-nuts and that, they tend to give up real fast." the Warden squeezed her shoulder.  "Can you see the light yet?"

     "Never understood that, but I guess if you're suckin' gem-filled tits and pissin' gold, it'd suck to leave that behind."  Meyri replied, squinting.  She didn't really notice a difference in the grey; after leaving the blinding bright of Cadash and the red-tinged shadows of the Roads, if it wasn't bizarre or red, it wasn't making an impression.  "Just looks like rock to me old woman; you sure you didn't accidentally walk us to Kal'Shirol or something?"

    "I could have.  I _am_ old, I could've gotten turned around."  The sarcasm was pleasantly palpable...which meant the Warden was in some serious pain.  That wasn't a good thing.  "Check the walls; you don't see any arrows, we're not in the right spot."

     "You marked the route?"  
     "Couldn't risk getting overwhelmed and screwing somebody out of their escape."  The Warden huffed.  
  
     "Got an answer for everything, don't you?" Meyri demanded distractedly, scanning the walls.  The air was so _thin_ , and she couldn't figure out the smell of it.  But there, ahead,  crooked and high up, a skinny arrow.  Then another.  Then a whole lot of little ones before that.  "What're the little ones for?"

     "Everybody who made it out."  The Warden said.

     Meyri realized the Warden hanging on her was trembling.  Or maybe she herself was trembling.  There were more little arrows than she would have figured on.  Hope, which she kept tamped down tighter than the purse strings on an Aeducan, was starting to slip free.  "There's...well no offense old woman, but there's a lot more than I thought there'd be."

     "Aw, shut up and pick up a rock so you can put your own arrow up."  The Warden was still huffing.  "Just prop me against the wall."

     She hesitated, earning a sharp pinch on the shoulder from the Warden.  There was an egg-shaped stone near her foot; after propping the Warden up, she took it to the wall, adding an arrow.  She wished she knew how to write then; something like this, it demanded telling.  People coming into this cavern should know what had gone on miles below them, years before them.  They should know about a mad Warden still trying to do the right thing.  
     But she couldn't write, couldn't read, and the only way she'd ever be able to tell anyone the story out loud would be if she were pissed as a rat in an ale barrel.  So she left her arrow, braced the Warden again, and continued toward the unknown.

* * *

     They stood at the mouth of the cave, taking in the cold air.  There was light _everywhere_ ; little flecks of it in an inky wave that must be that 'sky' thing, great long streaks in the far off water.  There were even bugs made of light!  Oh the air was thin and she wasn't quite sure about the gravel under her feet...but it was wilder than anything she might've accidentally dreamed of.  "That's the sky?" she pointed to the inky wash and its speckles.

     "Yep.  Didn't realize it was gonna be night when we made it.  It's easy to lose track of that."  the Warden murmured, sitting on a rock just inside. 

     "And I just follow this road to the village?"

     "And the Red Ale Inn.  Get rested, get well, go find a life of your own."

     Meyri nodded.  She didn't know what that would entail, she didn't know even how long that 'life of her own' would be.  But it wasn't in the Roads, and if somebody with as much credit to her name as the Warden thought she could be something other than a grubbing Duster...well hell, it might just be true.  "No chance of you coming?"

     "Nope.  I'm a Warden.  My job's to die down there.  One more thing before you go though."

     "I know; help you up because you're an old woman." She had to say something harsh, something that'd take the sting out of this moment.  The only person she'd said 'goodbye' to in her whole life was her sister; their blind sotted mother hadn't even gotten a farewell when she'd finally keeled over. 

     "Aw, shut your mouth Meyri, and put out your hand." The Warden was drawing something out of a pouch on her belt, near the dangling skull.  "Do with it what you will." she added, pressing something small into the dwarf's palm.

     Meyri frowned, looking down at...a ring?  It could stand a good polish, that was for sure.  Scraping some muck away, she realized the metal had been stamped with the same fuzzy animal that was on the Warden's tunic. 

     "Be good Meyri.  You're not a Duster anymore." the Warden said, pushing to her feet.  She was unsteady, the fang-knicked leg gimping.  But her shoulders were square, and her head high up as she slowly crossed into the shadow of the cavern.  It was her Calling, after all.

     As the Warden retreated into the dark, Meyri closed her fingers on the ring.  She wished she knew what it meant, what the story behind the roaring fuzzy thing was, or even why the Warden had given it to her.  Not that any of that mattered; this most valuable trinket fit her pinky, and on her pinky it would stay until her fingers were as skinny as the Warden's...and that wouldn't happen until well after her last breath.


	6. Le Grande Finale

     Leiliana was a master of chasing rumors to their end, no matter where they led.  Even if they led to a little mud puddle of a village on the rocky coast.  Many of the people there were suspicious of her, of her thick accent.  The war apparently was not over for them and they let her know in so many ways.  She ignored the slights; they were nothing compared to the grand goal.  She just had to follow the rumors backwards.

     To the Red Ale Inn, to persuade a big-eared dwarf to tell his tale.  It only cost a coin and a charming smile.  Then up the gravel path that petered off to sand and grass against the hillside.  It was slow-going, and she cursed her age for that.  She did not want to be too late, not this time.  But the Maker gave her strength, and Andraste fed her spirit; she broached the cave and its little arrow memorial.  She had been prepared to go Deep, to bear the claustrophobic grasp of the dwarven realm for as long as necessary.  All the preparation was unnecessary; she found her sister tucked in an alcove a day's walk from the mouth of the cave.

     The maid at the Inn with the griffon-stamped ring had fretted for her leg, and Leiliana now understood why.  It was swollen and purple, the bandage grubby.  Her heart ached for the little elf lying beside a feeble fire; ached to see brambles where once a silken banner reigned, ached to see deep sad lines carved into a face that had once smiled even in the darkest time, ached to know that no matter her triumphs, the end was as unglorious as it could be without an actual gutter under her cheek.  Arms and armor had been discarded, and the form in the tunic was frail and fretful, even in slumber.  
  
     "Oh Kallian..." the whisper escaped her lips before she could think at herself to be quiet.  
     The elf stirred.  "...Leiliana?"

     She bit back the tears.  "Of course."

     And she smiled.  "I knew you'd be here.  I told Alistair you would be here eventually.  Where's Morrigan?"

     Leiliana swallowed.  It was good that her sister was not fully there, in that dank little alcove with her body giving out.  "She is...still...cursing the guards." 

     Sitting up took visible effort, and it was unsettling to see her pick up part of a skull and kiss it reverently.  "I told you love.  And only after a little bit of torture too."

     She knelt, cupping the back of the elf's head.  The fever raged hot, even through that tangled mat of hair and the thick palm of her glove.  "It's time to go Kallian." she murmured.  The blade went in easy, with just the tiniest gasp that very well could have come from her own lips.

     It was not a glorious end.  It was not a fitting end for a hero such as them.  But at least it was an end.


End file.
